The Gift
by Winter1066
Summary: An easy mission some how goes horribly wrong when one of the musketeers is injured. Will the other three be able to save him in time.
1. Chapter 1

Want to thank my Beta Spacecowboy for everything she did to make this flow better.

It was a cool autumn day on the road to Paris. Athos heard the foliage rustling in the wind. The musky scent of the crushed leaves reminded him of happier times riding with his father surveying their lands. The rust and burgundy leaves carpeted the road muffling the sound of the horse's hooves. Athos enjoyed the tranquility and his traveling companions, but sometimes they could be a handful. Aramis never stopped talking, regaling his friends with one outrageous story after another. Athos turned in his saddle at Porthos' boisterous laugh.

"Don't laugh." Aramis said. "It's true."

"Only you can say the wrong women's name in bed and talk your way out of it," d'Artagnan said, shaking his head.

Aramis smiled. "It's a gift."

"It will be your death," Athos scoffed.

"Maybe," Aramis agreed. "But there's no finer way to go."

"Oh, I don't know, old age would be nice," added the youngest, d'Artagnan.

Athos smirked when Aramis put his hand to his chin thinking. The marksman would be lucky to make it to old age. The thought sent shiver down his spine.

"Too boring," Aramis decided. "I need more excitement."

The words were barely uttered when two shots rang out. Aramis clutched his right shoulder, his guttural scream causing Athos to cringe. Everything seemed to move in slow motion after that as he watched Porthos grab Aramis' left arm to keep him in the saddle. Athos spurred his horse to a gallop, glancing back to make sure the others were following. The pain on Aramis face and Porthos pinched lips gripped Athos with worry. He looked to d'Artagnan and saw his eyes wide in fear, but Athos had no time to console as they dashed head long down the road.

Athos knew if they were injured or killed they could never deliver the King's letters, or worse, they could fall into the wrong hands, which would be disastrous. As their unspoken leader, it was his responsibility to make sure they were successful in their mission, so he scanned the road left and right for a place to make a stand but their surroundings offered little cover.

"There's too many of them," d'Artagnan cried. "We can't out run them."

Athos looked back to see numerous men chasing them. He knew d'Artagnan's prediction was correct, there was still twenty miles between them and Paris and they were closing fast. The horses could never keep this break neck pace all the way to the city. He also knew Aramis would never make it, which scared him more than anything. If one of them were lost, he didn't know how the rest would go on. Athos steeled himself and got his wayward emotions under control as he searched for a place to make a stand.

"Athos!" Aramis called in a pained voice.

Athos dropped back to run his horse alongside Aramis. He clenched his jaw to stop it from dropping open and exposing his concern when he saw a large red stain coating Aramis' jacket. He looked across to Porthos and saw his own concerns reflected in his features, and they knew they'd have to stop soon or Aramis would bleed to death.

The marksman's knuckles where white as he gripped the pommel to stay mounted. His lips were moving but barely a sound escaped them.

"What is it?" Athos asked.

"Up ahead on the left is a path," Aramis panted.

Athos reluctantly moved back into the lead. As they came around the bend he spotted the trail. It was narrow, and wouldn't afford much room for them to maneuver. He pulled on the reins to slow his mount, glancing back as a painful groan emanated from the marksman.

Porthos grabbed Aramis just as he was about to fall, making Athos stomach clench as the color drained from Aramis' face. Even though Aramis was in considerable pain, Athos was reluctant to commit to the single file trail.

"Trust me," Aramis gasped.

That single plea was all it took, he trusted Aramis.

"Porthos, take Aramis," Athos instructed. "D'Artagnan and I will hold them here to give you a head start."

"Right," Porthos agreed, grabbing the reins of Aramis' horse. "Don't get killed."

Athos watched Porthos head up the trail. He knew he was right sending them ahead but his heart ached for his injured friend. He glanced toward d'Artagnan. The youngest' lips were pressed into a thin line betraying his worry as he also watched their friends disappear.

The Comte tapped him on the knee to get his attention. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"We won't be able to stop them," d'Artagnan fretted.

"No," Athos agreed, moving his horse into the woods. "But hopefully we can discourage them enough to give Porthos time."

Athos saw d'Artagnan square his shoulders and nod. Athos smiled confidently and motioned the Gascon into the trees on the other side of the trail. Athos pushed his mount to the opposite side and glanced at d'Artagnan. D'Artagnan loaded his pistols in preparation. Athos saw him take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. When he looked up Athos nodded. Now all they had to do was wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Athos horse was fidgety, reflecting the edgy feel of his rider. He had opted to stay mounted, d'Artagnan as well, since the underbrush made it difficult to dismount, and he knew firing from horseback wouldn't bother the well-trained horses. This would also give them a little extra time if they didn't have to remount.

He patted his horse to calm him, and then heard the trampling of approaching horses before he saw them. He signaled to d'Artagnan to let the first few pass. As the rest of the group came into view, Athos' heart sank; they were a larger force than anticipated. He glanced at d'Artagnan to see his own worry reflected in his eyes. Then he nodded and fired his pistols, knocking two from their horses.

The rest of the enemy scrambled off their horses, pulling their steeds into the trees on the opposite side of the road.

D'Artagnan's pistols went off as Athos reloaded. Athos calmly loaded his weapons as he looked for his next target. He noticed the men moving into the trees were wearing similar clothes with a rearing stag on the shoulder. The symbol seemed familiar but just out of reach of his memory.

A target presented itself and Athos fired. He felt satisfaction when the bullet found its mark. Chaos reigned on the road until a voice began issuing orders. The voice was familiar and Athos' memory was jogged. The man was Jean Phillipe, the commander of the militia to Comte Burgeron, a rival of the Comte who's letters they carried to the king.

Athos was pulled from his memories when d'Artagnan's guns discharged. He looked for another target but there were none; the enemy was safely hidden amongst the trees.

"Go!" Athos cried.

D'Artagnan spurred his horse up the trail. As Athos followed behind, he fired one last shot, hoping it would take the enemy a few minutes to sort themselves out before pursuing them. Whatever time he could gain for Porthos was a bonus. The commander might even be reluctant to follow in such close quarters but he doubted it, Phillipe was a disciplined man. A man he could admire in different circumstances. And if his men were disciplined in obeying orders, they wouldn't stop until their mission was complete. As a soldier Athos understood this.

Athos moved up the trail. Off to the left he could see a rock cliff jutting up from behind the trees. The trail seemed to be heading for the base of the cliff. Trees bracketed the narrow trail, with thick underbrush along the forest floor. The underbrush would be a problem if they needed to move off the trail.

Athos glanced behind him to see if the Commander was following but the trees obscured his view. He could see d'Artagnan was also checking their back trail. Athos tapped his heals into his horse's side to increase the pace. Quicker then Athos liked, they caught up with Porthos and Aramis. Athos cursed himself for not providing them a bigger lead, but didn't have time to dwell. He drove forward, d'Artagnan right behind him, catching them before the enemy caught up with them.

"Head for the cliff," he instructed. "We'll make our stand there."

"No," Aramis said weakly. "Keep going."

Athos pushed his horse alongside Aramis. "Don't be foolish," he said, gripping his arm. "You can barely stay in the saddle."

"We don't have time to argue," d'Artagnan said, glancing nervously behind.

Aramis groaned. "Just a little further," he pleaded with Athos.

Athos decided to take Aramis at his word, pushing his horse into the lead and following the trail. A short time later, Athos heard the enemy crashing through the forest. Cursing, he kicked his horse into a faster pace. A sharp cry from Aramis made Athos wince, but they had little choice but to keep moving.

As they moved up the trail, Athos could see them getting closer to the cliff face. The rocky outcrop loomed above them several lieu, the trees and the thick underbrush running along it base. As he pushed his horse forward he saw a chimney sticking above the trees. Salvation. A place to rest and seek sanctuary. The sight of the chimney cheered him and he glanced back to check on the others. Aramis' white knuckled grip had him still in the saddle by pure determination alone and his pained expression made Athos grit his teeth with worry. Both Porthos and d'Artagnan were further back with weapons drawn.

Porthos nodded, giving him a grim smile. Athos forged ahead, and saw ruins near the edge of the rocky outcrop. The ruins were surrounded by thick brambles.

"Quickly," Athos called, changing course.

The horses struggled through the thick underbrush; d'Artagnan's horse neighing in protest as it fought the bit in its mouth. Athos' larger Friesian crashed through the last of the bushes first, entering the ruins, as Aramis' horse eagerly followed.

Athos barely had time to jump from his horse as Aramis pitched into his arms. The feel of his friend's dead weight gripped Athos with fear.

"Aramis!" Porthos yelled, leaping from his horse.

Athos was glad for Porthos' help carrying their injured friend further into the ruins. He saw d'Artagnan take charge of the horses, even though he knew the younger man would rather be helping Aramis.

They placed Aramis in a sheltered corner, surprised to see his eyes open. The marksman groaned as Porthos began to remove the weapons from their friend's belt. If removing his weapons caused Aramis pain, Athos dreaded having to remove the doublet to check his shoulder.

Porthos began unfastening the pauldron, while Athos undid the buttons on the doublet. They helped Aramis sit up so Porthos could remove the heavy coat. The marksman gripped Athos' arm tight as Porthos gently pulled the injured arm free. Blood soaked the back of Aramis' shirt, but the front was spotless.

Porthos shuddered. "Bullet's still in there," he said.

Athos grabbed his knife and handed it to Porthos. "Cut away his shirt."

Aramis leaned heavily against Athos as Porthos did as he was told. When the shoulder was revealed, the entrance wound seeped blood, it needed to be stopped or Aramis would bleed to death.

Athos ran his hand over Aramis' chest; he could feel the ball just below the skin. He knew it would have to come out and he hated to be the one to cause his friend more pain.

"The ball is just below the skin," Athos said.

"It's got to come out," Porthos advised.

"Don't you think I know that!" Athos yelled, running his hand down his face. He regretted his outburst.

Porthos gripped his shoulder in sympathy, and Athos looked up to see his friend took no offense from his harsh words.

Porthos used Aramis' shirt to apply pressure to his the wound. Aramis cried out, making Athos wince.

"Sorry, brother," Porthos said.

"S'alright," Aramis said. "Water."

"Here," d'Artagnan said, walking up behind him.

Porthos took the offered water skin. "Thanks."

Aramis drank his fill, sagging back against Porthos when done. They laid him down with his back against the wadded shirt, then Athos noticed more blood on his left leg. He searched and found the hole in the pants, then stuck his fingers in to rip it wider.

"Damn it, Aramis," Athos growled, when he found another bullet hole in Aramis' thigh. He knew his anger was misdirected. But he couldn't help himself, it was the situation clouding his emotions, not his brothers. "D'Artagnan watch for the others."

When he got no response he glanced up at the younger man. D'Artagnan eyes were wide with fear. Athos could sympathize, but they were being hunted and d'Artagnan needed to be alert. He smacked him in the leg, drawing his attention to where it belonged.

D'Artagnan jerked, dropping the saddlebags next to their injured friend. Athos watched as he quickly moved to the wall facing the trail. Athos cursed, he knew the Gascon was worried for Aramis, but he didn't have time to babysit.

He turned back to Aramis, checking for an exit wound in his leg. It appeared that the ball passed clean through, which was one less worry.

Porthos murmured reassurances to Aramis, while Athos bound his leg. Aramis grunted as Athos wrapped the bandage tight. He looked up to see the marksman staring at him with eyes made wet from unshed tears. Aramis' brow was also furrowed and beaded with sweat, which Athos knew meant he was in a lot of pain.

"You know what you have to do," Aramis panted.

Athos did know, and from the grim look on Porthos' face so did he. The shoulder wound needed to be cauterized. Athos stomach clenched just thinking about the pain it would cause his friend. This wasn't the first time he'd done this, and it wouldn't be the last, but the smell of burning flesh made him want to retch.

A hand gripped his shoulder, and looking up he saw Porthos' grim but determined face.

"First we have to get that ball out of his shoulder," Athos said, taking charge.

He rummaged in the saddlebags looking for the brandy. They would need it to clean the shoulder wound. He found the small bottle, popped the cork and took a swig. The burn of the alcohol settled his nerves.

Porthos handed him one of his knives. Athos poured the brandy over the blade while kneeling next to Aramis. The marksman shivered when Athos poured the brandy over his chest where the ball lay, so Porthos gripped Aramis' shoulders to keep him still.

"Ready?" Athos asked.

Aramis took a deep breath and nodded.

Athos glanced at Porthos. The big musketeer looked him in the eye and nodded. Athos ran his hand over Aramis' chest until he found the ball. He placed the tip of the blade against his flesh and made a quick cut. Aramis cried out as Athos pushed his fingers into the slit to get the ball. He moved quickly but the ball was proving elusive. Aramis bucked in Porthos grip but he held on as the marksman cried out in anguish. Athos gritted his teeth, hating himself for causing his friend all this pain.

When he found the ball, he gripped it tight and pulled. Aramis went limp, his breathing hard and ragged. Athos threw the ball away, cursing. This was just the first step, now they needed to cauterize all the wounds.

"I'm sorry, Aramis," Athos said, pressing a bandage against the wound where he'd just removed the ball.

"Had to be done," moaned Aramis.

"Porthos," Athos said. "Ready for the next part?"

"Hell no," Porthos said, gripping Aramis' hand. "But let's get this over with."

"I'll get the wood," Athos said.

He gathered fallen branches from around the ruins, piling them close to Aramis. As he went about gathering more wood, he glanced at d'Artagnan. The Gascon was watching their perimeter, his eyes keen on the horizon until they turned back to look at him. The ex-Comte permitted one of his rare smiles to grace his lips, and the Gascon smiled in silent acknowledgement before continuing his vigil.

Athos chose the driest branches to start the fire, piling them with dried leaves and twigs. He pulled his flint and stone out of his pouch, striking the two rapidly together. The kindling caught and Athos knelt closer to blow on the embers to make them hotter, then added more wood.

He could feel the heat from the fire as he held his knife over the heart of the blaze. When the blade was glowing he turned to see if Aramis was ready.

Porthos had the marksman on his side with Aramis' shoulder wound facing the fire. Athos could see Aramis breathing fast as he gripped Porthos' arm. Porthos looked at Athos and nodded, indicating they were ready, so he wrapped his hands in rags and grabbed the heated blade.

Moving swiftly, Athos placed the blade to the open would. Aramis' response was immediate and violent as he screamed and tried to pull away.

Porthos held him steady as Athos moved the blade to close the wound. When he was satisfied the wound was closed he pulled the blade away placing it back in the fire to heat it again for the wound on his chest. He could hear Porthos talking with Aramis, trying to comfort him and took heed of the words himself.

Athos tried not to retch at the sweet smell of burnt flesh. He took another swig of the brandy and felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. Athos turned to Porthos holding out his hand. A silent message passed between them as Athos handed over the bottle. Porthos took a healthy swallow, then handed the bottle back.

"Let's get this done," Porthos growled.

Athos nodded, grabbing the heated blade. Porthos pinned Aramis' shoulders to the ground. Athos moved quickly, the smaller chest wound was easier to close but Aramis screamed just as loud as before. Athos threw the blade to the side when he was done, standing quickly to distancee himself from the smell of burning flesh. His heart ached for the pain he caused his friend, but Porthos' soft voice brought him some relief knowing he was also comforting their wounded comrade.

He turned to see Porthos pushing the damp curls away from Aramis sweaty forehead. The marksman was still conscious. Athos knelt next to his friend.

"Had to be done," Aramis gasped, gripping Athos' hand.

Athos nodded, releasing his grip to pull bandages from the saddle bags to bind the wound. Porthos' steady presence and strong arms held Aramis as Athos wrapped the strips around Aramis' shoulder. Once he was settled, Porthos stood and ran a shaky hand through his hair. Athos felt wrung out as well, but knew they weren't out of the woods yet.


	3. Chapter 3

D'Artagnan scanned the forest around the ruins, his eyes peering around every tree and bush. The forest was thick, with an occasional wind rustling the leaves and brush, making it hard for him to determine if it was the enemy or his imagination. He hoped the enemy would bypass their hiding place, unfortunately only a fool could miss the path their horses had made through the brambles during their escape to the ruins

D'Artagnan placed the pistol in his left hand on the ground before pushing the hair back from his sweaty forehead. He could hear bits and pieces from the conversation behind him and knew Aramis was in bad shape. He felt like an idiot for freezing when Athos told him to watch for the enemy, and then needing to be smacked on the leg to rein in his attention.

It wasn't the sight of all that blood that had paralyzed him with fear, but the thought of losing Aramis. What would they do if Aramis didn't make it? How could they go on without him?

Athos and Porthos were doing everything they could for Aramis, he had to trust them, so he closed his eyes, rallied his conviction and forced himself to snap out of his melancholy thoughts.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and opened his eyes. D'Artagnan felt calmer, until Aramis screamed, constricting his heart. He spun around to see Athos with a heated blade against Aramis' back. The Gascon averted his eyes back to the forest, breathing through his mouth to keep from retching.

As he tried to block the sounds behind him he saw one of the bushes move. Watching carefully, he saw the sun glint off a piece of metal giving away the attackers position. He took careful aim, fired, and was rewarded by a sharp cry.

"Can you see how many?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan turned to see Athos take up position a few feet away. "I can't tell."

His mentor wiped his hands on his pants, leaving a patch of blood behind. When Athos looked up d'Artganan saw the grim set to his mouth.

"How's Aramis?" asked d'Artganan.

"Not good," Athos replied. "We got the bleeding stopped, but he lost a lot of blood."

"We have you surrounded!" called a voice from the trees. "There are only four of you and at least one is wounded. Surrender and we'll let you live."

"Very kind of him," d'Artagnan remarked.

Athos smirked. "He knows our little hide away is well protected. He can afford to be pragmatic."

D'Artganan looked around the ruins as he reloaded his pistol. He didn't know how Aramis knew about them but they were proving useful. The ruins backed up against the cliff making entry from that direction impossible. The wall to his right was over ten feet tall; it would be difficult to climb, leaving only two possible sides for an attack.

D'Artagnan turned his attention to Athos when he heard him cock his pistol. The Comte watched the area to the right; d'Artagnan saw the bushes moving and knew the enemy was making a move. Porthos moved to flank d'Artagnan on his right. The waiting was making him edgy, never knowing when an attack would happen. There was a yell to his right, he was tempted to look but knew Porthos could handle anything coming his way. Two men burst out of the bushes several yards from the ruins. A shot rang out to his right as he took careful aim and fired, surprised when both men dropped at the same time. He turned to Athos to see him grin as he reloaded his pistol. D'Artagnan didn't even realize Athos had fired; he was focused on his opponent.

"I don't think they'll try that again," Athos said. "They were testing us."

"They'll wait 'til dark," d'Artagnan said, as he reloaded his pistol.

Athos nodded. "It's what I would do."

D'Artganan looked towards the cliff and the setting sun. It wouldn't be long before the sun dropped below the cliff casting the ruins in shadow. D'Artagnan's heart sank, the ruins certainly offered cover but the enemy had numbers on their side. Under the cover of dark they could easily maneuver closer.

"Porthos," Athos called. "Keep watch."

Porthos nodded moving to their positon as Athos took d'Artagnan to Aramis. D'Artagnan swallowed thickly afraid at what he might find. The sounds of Aramis' scream and the smell of burning flesh were still vivid in his mind. As they got closer he could see Aramis was awake with a pistol in his hand. He never expected to see the marksman still conscious, Aramis was more resilient, or stubborn, then he thought. Aramis placed the pistol on his stomach as they knelt next to him.

"How do you feel?" d'Artagnan asked.

"With my hands." Aramis smiled.

D'Artagnan scowled as he shook his head, emoting the same frustration as Athos' derisive snort. Aramis tended to be more jovial as the situation got worse, but his attempt to make light of the situation did little to ease their worry.

"How do you feel, really," d'Artagnan persisted.

"I'm f…"

"If you say fine," Athos interrupted. "I'll shoot you in the other leg."

"I've been better," Aramis conceded. "Could I have some water?"

D'Artagnan grabbed the water skin as he raised Aramis's head with his other hand, causing the marksman to suck in a sharp breath through clenched teeth as the slight movement shifted his shoulder. D'Artagnan hated that he was causing his friend pain, but knew they had to replenish the fluids Aramis had lost. When he was finished, d'Artagnan released a long breath and lowered his heavy head.

Aramis patted his knee, conveying an understanding that helped relinquish some of d'Artagnan's guilt, than turned to Athos.

"Can you tell how many?" Aramis asked.

"No," Athos answered. "But I know who."

D'Artagnan pulled his head back and frowned. "You do?" he asked.

"I recognized the crest on their doublets," Athos said. "They represent Comte Burgeron's militia. I've met their leader before. His name is Phillipe, and trusts me when I say; he takes his duty very seriously."

"Rival of the Duke whose letters we carry," Aramis sighed.

"Seriously!" d'Artagnan cried. "He'd kill the king's musketeers to get the letters."

"Obviously there's something in those letters the Comte objects too," Athos said.

"Those letters have to get back to the King," Aramis declared, the effort of speech taking a toll on his injuries and causing him to wince.

"I'm open to suggestions," Athos said dryly.

"Send d'Artagnan with the letters," Aramis said.

"No!" d'Artagnan protested. "You'll need help defending this place."

"How do you propose we do this?" Athos asked, ignoring d'Artagnan's objection. "There are armed men guarding the only trail back to the road."

"Athos, please, did you really think I would back us into a corner?" Aramis asked.

Athos smiled. D'Artagnan looked between the two of them and felt as if they were plotting something in a silent language. It made him angry that they wanted to send him away.

"Can't we discuss this?" d'Artagnan asked.

"You're the logical choice," Athos added. "You're the lightest and quickest, but Aramis is right. Those letters have to get to the King."

"I don't like this," d'Artagnan stated.

"Duly noted," Athos replied.

Athos turn his attention back to Aramis.

"Alright you sly bastard," Athos said. "Explain how the trail continues."

"It continues just on the other side of this wall," Aramis said, pointing to the tallest wall. "There's a gap between the wall and the cliff just big enough for a horse to fit. The trail continues over a rise and you'll see Paris."

"How far?" Athos asked.

"About ten lieu," replied Aramis, his words near breathless.

D'Artagnan could see all this talking was taxing Aramis' strength. Aramis' breathing was becoming labored and he worried the marksman might pass out. Perhaps that would be for the best, at least unconscious he would no longer be in pain.

But that was not his only concern. D'Artagnan knew it was selfish to think about himself right now, but he couldn't stop the anxiety of leaving his friends from building within him. What if something happened before he got back? What if Aramis died? He'd never forgive himself if any more of them were hurt while he wasn't there.

"D'Artagnan," Athos called.

D'Artagnan shook his head to clear his thoughts before looking up at Athos.

"Get Porthos' horse ready," Athos continued. "I'll check the trail."

"Porthos' horse?" D'Artganan asked.

"He's taller and… slimmer," Aramis said, between deep breathes. "He'll… be better on the trail."

D'Artagnan moved to the horses, watching as Athos quietly moved along the wall. He checked Flip's girth and bridle to make sure everything was secure, then stripped off the saddle bags and anything extra that he wouldn't need.

Flip turned his head, butting d'Artganan with his nose. The Gascon absently pet him as he waited for Athos. He turned to check on Porthos to see the large musketeers looking at him with a raised eyebrow. D'Artagnan smiled to reassure him, but it just made Porthos scowl. He turned when he heard Athos approach.

"He was right," Athos said. "The trail is well hidden."

"When do I leave?"

"When it gets dark they will attack," Athos said, pulling the letters from his doublet. "You'll leave during the confusion."

"Alright," he agreed, taking the letters and tucking them safely in his doublet.

"I know this isn't what you want," Athos said. "But the mission has to be completed."

"If the trail is well hidden, why can't we all go?" D'Artagnan asked.

"Aramis would never make it," Athos said. "We'd have to move quickly without stopping."

"I know," d'Artganan sighed. "I'll get these to Paris as fast as I can and come back with help."

"Good," Athos said, gripping his shoulder. "Once we take care of these men we'll meet you back on the main road. Now we just have to wait until dark."

D'Artagnan still didn't like this, but he knew the others would be counting on him to finish the mission. They were soldiers and they followed orders, but it was hard to leave your comrades behind when you knew the odds were against them.

D'Artagnan took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and made a silent vow. He would be back in time to help his brothers no matter the cost.


	4. Chapter 4

With the sun dipping behind the cliff, the lengthening shadows made it difficult for Athos to see as he kept a watchful eye on the surrounding bush. Crouched behind the wall, the building breeze accompanying nightfall ruffled his hair, sending a chill down his spine. It wasn't cold, but his senses were hyperactive in anticipation of an impending attack from Philippe. Strung out and tired, Athos was secretly hoping for some action for he hated all the waiting.

Athos knew they had to maintain the illusion that there were three men firing in order for d'Artagnan to make a successful escape. That meant Aramis needed to help with the defense.

Athos looked to his left to see Aramis propped against a rock, his eyes closed. Porthos was a few feet away, alternating his watch on the woods with quick glances towards Aramis.

Athos looked next to his right to where d'Artagnan was watching bushes as they swayed in the wind. Athos picked up a small stone and tossed it at him, catching him off guard.

D'Artagnan turned to face him, then Athos jerked his head toward the horses, signaling him to get ready to leave. D'Artagnan nodded and moved to the horses. Athos watched until the darker shadows at the cliff's base swallowed him whole, than looked to the heavens, wishing his friend luck. It wasn't a prayer per say, for he'd lost faith in God many years ago, but the sentiment gave him strength.

A movement in the bushes caught Athos' attention and he swung his head toward the noise. The action he'd been longing for was finally here. Hoping Philipe didn't decide to attempt an all out attack, if he did Athos worried their position would be over run due to the overwhelming numbers against them.

Three militiaman burst from the foliage in front of him.

Taking careful aim, and waiting until one of them was close, Athos dropped his opponent with a single shot. Then he reloaded his pistol as two shots came from his right.

He resisted the urge to see if his brother's had hit their marks, knowing that a split second of distraction could mean his downfall.

Athos barely finished reloading when two more men burst from the forest. With the thrill of the fight coursing through his veins, he took aim, and then fired both his pistols, dropping the men in their tracks.

He crouched below the wall as two shots sent rock chips flying, nicking him in the cheek. He reloaded again, hoping d'Artagnan got away safely. He hadn't heard any battle sounds behind them, which was a good sign the Gascon escaped.

Athos recognized the sound of Porthos' pistols as the large musketeer fired twice. He heard nothing from Aramis, so fearing the worst he glanced towards the marksman. Aramis was alert, scanning the forest for his next target. Athos huffed out a breath, glad that Aramis was still with them, but knew the marksman might later regret his decision to help when his adrenaline rush was over.

After the frantic fight, the forest became eerily quiet. Athos strained to hear anything out of the ordinary, but the only sound he heard was Porthos cocking his pistols, suggesting to Athos things weren't finished.

He was proved right when four men jumped up directly in front of the short wall. They must have moved up while they were concentrating on the others. Athos was able to kill one but his second shot went wide, and the enemy was only grazed. He pulled out his sword as the second man leaped over the wall, firing a shot while still in the air. His aim was off, but Athos felt the ball nick his ear.

Athos didn't give him a chance to fire his other pistol as he lunged forward, stabbing him in the heart. Athos was vaguely aware of a pistol going off from where Porthos was stationed. He turned to see one of the enemy slumped over the wall, with Porthos now wrestling with a bull of a man.

The large musketeer stumbled over a rock as the enemy pushed him away, levering his pistol as he fell back. Athos heart leap to his throat when a single shot rang out. Porthos jerked in reflex when the enemy toppled to the side. Athos looked to where the sound had come from, not surprised Aramis' perfect aim had saved one of them again. Then he watched in alarm as the pistol fell from the marksman's slack fingers as he passed out.

"Damn it," Porthos cursed, moving to Aramis' side.

Athos ground his teeth in frustration as he picked up his pistols to reload. He hated that Aramis had to participate in their defense, but they had little choice. It just pained him to cause him more misery.

"Fallback!" someone screamed from the tree line.

Athos recognized the voice as Philippe and sighed in relief, turning to check on his friends.

"How is he?" Athos called.

"How do you think he is!" growled Porthos.

Athos knew Porthos' anger wasn't directed at him but rather the situation, so taking a moment to calm his own frustration he gathered Porthos' pistols and joined him next to Aramis.

The marksman was pale and his breathing labored as he lay cradled in Porthos' arms. Athos reloaded the pistols and set them aside, then moved to check Aramis' wound, flinching when Porthos grabbed his hand.

"Leave him," Porthos said, pushing his hand away.

"Porthos," Athos admonished.

"Shit, you're right, check it," replied Porthos, running a weary hand down his face. "I just don't want him to be hurt any more."

"I know, my friend," Athos said gripping his shoulder. "Believe me, I know."

With the battle over, the moon now crested over the cliff in the distance, bathing the ruins in a cool light and making it easier for Athos to check Aramis' wounds.

Athos unwrapped the dressing from the marksman's shoulder with care, revealing the wound on his chest. Athos sighed in relief when he saw no new blood, but the wound on his back still oozed a small amount at the outer edges of the cauterization mark.

Athos probed it lightly and wasn't surprised to find the area around the wound warm to the touch. He re-wrapped the shoulder then helped Porthos lay him down on the ground. Athos moved to check the leg wound next as Porthos folded one of the cloaks to place under Aramis' head.

"Porthos," he called. "Help me with his leg."

Porthos moved to help, keeping alert to the surrounding forest. Athos smiled as he watched Porthos checking for the enemy. He knew Porthos was worried about Aramis, but he still had the foresight to watch for the enemy. Porthos instincts would serve him well when war with Spain was eventually declared.

Athos unwrapped the bandages as Porthos held up Aramis' leg, and noted the wound was bleeding again.

"Wish there'd been time to cauterized this as well," Athos sighed.

"We weren't given the chance," Porthos said.

Athos ripped a strip from his cloak to re-bandage the leg. Once Aramis was taken care of, Porthos covered him with their cloaks to ward off the chill. The two musketeers stayed close to their friend as they turned to watch the forest.

"How many more men do you think he has?" asked Porthos.

"I don't know," replied Athos. "But I think we're good for the night."

"Do you think d'Artagnan got away?"

"I hope so," Athos said with a sigh. "I'd hate if he was killed when it was my decision to send him."

"You could have let him stay," Porthos pointed out.

"Yes," agreed Athos. "But we have a duty to see those letters safely to the king."

"I know," said Porthos, as his head fell forward, then he turned back to look at Athos with tired eyes. "Just doesn't feel right without him here with us."

"Like a part of us is missing," Athos added.

"The annoying little brother part," Porthos said with a smile

Athos chuckled under his breath. "One that asks incessant questions."

"Yeah," said Porthos. He shifted next to Athos, then after running a hand down his face, which seemed to invigorate him, he asked, "What do we do now?"

"The only thing we can," Athos said. "We wait."

"I really hate waiting," growled Porthos.

"So do I brother, so do I," replied Athos.

MMMMMMMMMMMM

Birdsong filtered down from the canopy of trees above as the stars slowly started to wink out of existence, heralding a new day. The moon's pale light receded as it disappeared behind the cliff, and Athos knew dawn was a few hours away. He also feared Philippe would make his push during these darker hours, and worried that the commander had more men left then they could handle.

Also plaguing his mind with anxious thoughts, was his fear that d'Artagnan would not make it back in time. Even with a full moon, the Gascon would have to take his time. He couldn't afford to have Porthos' horse, Flip, be injured in his haste to get help.

Athos spared a glance to the forest but wasn't worried about an attack just yet. The birds were making a racket in the canopy above and experience dictated that if there was someone moving in the forest the birds would be silent.

"How long was I out?" asked Aramis.

Athos turned toward Aramis, sighing in relief to see the marksman conscious. "How do you feel?" he asked, moving closer.

"Like I did the morning after Porthos' last birthday," Aramis croaked.

Athos smiled and grabbed a water skin. He raised Aramis' head as he held the skin to his lips. Aramis took several long swallows before pulling his head away. Athos lowered Aramis' head back as the Comte settled against the wall.

"We feared the worst when we saw you pass out," Athos said, gripping Aramis' forearm.

"I had to save Porthos," Aramis said. "He'd never forgive me if I didn't"

Athos chuckled. "Him being the damsel in distress and all."

"A very large and ornery damsel," Aramis clarified. "Speaking of which, where is our mademoiselle?"

"Sleeping," Athos said, pointing to a lump not far away. "Do you want something to eat?"

"Some bread, perhaps," Aramis said.

Athos pulled a cloth sack from his saddlebag and rested it on his lap. Then he unfolded it and pulled out a small bottle of brandy along with a half loaf of bread. He handed the bread to Aramis as he took a pull from the bottle, than offered the bottle to Aramis.

"No, I don't think so," replied Aramis. "Not even sure if I can keep the bread down."

Athos watched as Aramis took small bites from the bread. He sighed knowing Aramis' needed the sustenance but was glad when Aramis accepted the water skin to take a healthy swallow.

"D'Artagnan should have made it to Paris by now," Aramis commented.

"Let's just hope help arrives before Philippe attacks again," Athos said. "The ruins have proved useful, but the numbers are on his side."

"We can only pray that we've whittled his numbers down to something more manageable," Aramis said.

"How did you know about the ruins," Athos asked.

Aramis smiled. "Remember after Savoy when I used to wander and disappear for days?"

Athos remembered those dark times. The garrison mourned the loss of twenty good soldiers while the lone survivor tried to come to terms with what happened. It pained both Athos and Porthos to watch their friend withdrawing into himself, feeling responsible for the deaths, even after being told many times it wasn't his fault. Athos remembered how Aramis would grow restless and disappear, worrying everyone that cared about him.

"It drove Porthos mad," Athos said.

"I know, and I felt bad pushing him away," Aramis sighed. "I just needed time to sort out everything in my head."

"So, you found this when wandering?" asked Athos, waving his hands around the ruins.

"It was an old church," Aramis said. "When I first found it there was an alter set close to the cliff face. I believe it belonged to the Huguenots."

"In the middle of no where," Athos pondered.

"There used to be a village not far from here," Aramis said. "The church was well hidden from outside eyes."

"Would make sense they would hide it," Athos agreed.

Aramis suddenly grabbed the swordsman's arm, his eyes wide. "Athos. Listen," he said, voice firm yet quiet.

Athos did as asked and heard nothing. The birds had gone quiet.

"Porthos!" Athos yelled as he helped Aramis into a seated position.

The large musketeer was up in an instant, taking a defensive spot next to the wall. Athos glanced quickly at Aramis and was rewarded with a determined smile from the marksman.

Athos nodded to both of them, proud to be fighting along side them. Then he heard a loud crash from the direction of the forest as four men came charging toward the wall. Athos fired both his pistols, taking down two of the attackers. He heard a report from his left and right and watched with satisfaction as the other two dropped to the ground.

The Musketeers were forced to duck behind the wall as shots rang out, sending rocky debris around their position. Four more men quickly followed behind the gunfire, making it to the wall. Athos only had time to reload one pistol so he took aim and fired, killing only one of them.

Aramis' pistol went off on his right. Aramis hit one of the attackers who stumbled, righted themselve's and kept advancing. Athos watched as Porthos' felled another man, but two others made it over the wall. He pulled his sword and engaged the enemy.

Athos had little time to spare to check on his friends. He could hear the clash of steel to his right and knew Porthos had engaged one of the attackers. As Athos fought his man, he heard a cry from behind him.

Aramis was in trouble.

Athos glanced quickly toward the marksman to see him on his feet and engaged with Philippe. Athos parried his opponent's thrusts, than ended the attack by plunging his sword into his opponent's heart. He pushed the dying man off his sword as he stepped back to catch his breath.

Then he quickly turned toward Aramis and watched in horror as Philippe kicked Aramis' injured leg causing him to fall.

"No!" yelled Porthos.

Athos scrambled over the rocks in his haste to get to Philippe. Philippe turned as he approached, raising his blade to defect Athos' attack.

Athos pressed his advantage as Philippe tried to parry his quick strokes. The two men struggled to gain ground, lunging and parrying each other's thrusts with Athos' need for revenge fueling his desire to kill Philippe.

The musketeer was a superior swordsman and had Philippe on the defensive. Athos pressed his attack, knocking Philippe off balance. It was the opening Athos needed so he thrust his blade into Philippe's chest.

Athos grunted in satisfaction as he pushed the blade further into Philippe. The commander's eyes opened in shock as his sword slipped from his fingers and his knees buckled. Athos smiled grimly as he pulled his sword from Philippe's body, than glanced around the ruins to make sure all of the attackers were dead. When satisfied there was no danger, he moved to help Aramis.

"You fool!" Athos barked, grabbing Aramis' hand.

"He would...have stabbed...you in the back," Aramis gasped. "Had to save… my other damsel."

Athos stomach clenched as Aramis' eye rolled back then went limp in Porthos arms.


	5. Chapter 5

Porthos lay Aramis on the ground as Athos pulled out his main gauche to cut the bandages from Aramis' leg. Athos sighed when he saw the wound bleeding again from the vicious kick from Philippe.

"We'll have to cauterize this," Athos said.

"Yeah," Porthos agreed.

"I'll gather some wood," said Athos, standing.

As he moved around the ruins, he heard movement coming up the trail. He dropped the wood, cursing as he moved back to Porthos. Athos couldn't believe there were more men out there. He knew Porthos had to be as equally worn out as he, and knew neither of them could hold off another attack. When he saw Porthos hadn't moved from Aramis' side, but ready with a pistol in his hand, Athos gave a curt nod.

"I warn you, Musketeers don't die easily!" Athos yelled, his voice tired as his patience waned. "Advance at your own peril!"

"Athos!" yelled d'Artagnan.

Athos dropped wearily against the stone wall, sighing in relief. D'Artagnan burst into the ruins a moment later, followed by Captain Treville and several musketeers. The young Gascon jumped from his horse, than rushed to Porthos.

"Is he dead?" asked d'Artagnan, as he hesitantly reached out to touch Aramis.

"No," Porthos said. "I don't know how, but he's still with us."

"D'Artagnan," Athos said. "We need firewood."

"Stay," Treville ordered, knowing the three men needed to be with their fourth.

Athos was grateful the others were there to take some of the burden. He settled next to Aramis carding his finger through the dark curls. He wasn't sure if it was to soothe his friend or himself. D'Artagnan turned worried eyes towards him looking for reassurance but Athos was too tired to offer any.

"He'll be fine," Porthos said. "He'll be fine."

Athos shook himself from his melancholy thoughts, and gripped d'Artagnan's arm. "Porthos' is right, Aramis will be fine."

"Of course he will," agreed d'Artagnan. "It's Aramis."

Treville dropped a large armful of firewood close to Aramis. Athos watched as the other musketeers removed the dead bodies and secured the camp. Treville caught Athos' gaze, nodding at his second in command to help him with the fire. Athos left Aramis' side to help Treville.

"How bad?" asked Treville.

"It's bad," replied Athos. "We had to cauterize a gun shot wound on his shoulder. He was also shot in the leg."

"Damn," Treville said.

"That's only part of it," Athos said with a sigh as he tried to strike the flint with shaking hands.

"Tell me," said Treville, taking the flint from Athos.

"We needed Aramis to help with the defense," said Athos, adding twigs when the fire caught. "His opponent kicked him in the leg, aggravating the leg wound."

"That's not your fault," said Treville, gripping his arm. "Aramis is a musketeer. He knew the risks."

Athos snorted. "We all do. It doesn't make it easier."

Athos pulled his dagger from the scabbard, placing it in the fire. He replayed the fight over in his mind trying to figure out if there was something he could have done different. Perhaps if he had let d'Artagnan stay, Aramis wouldn't have been hurt. He knew beating himself up over his decisions wouldn't help. Athos also knew Aramis wouldn't blame him for any of his injuries. He ran his hand over his face, taking a deep breath. He looked back to the fire and saw two knives now glowing in the flames.

"It will be faster," Treville said. "You won't have to reheat the blade."

Athos nodded as he wrapped a strip of cloth around his hand before grabbing his blade. Then he moved quickly to Aramis' side.

"Ready?" Athos asked.

"Do it," said Porthos, gripping Aramis' shoulders.

Athos poured brandy over Aramis' leg before placing the glowing blade against the wound. Aramis was pulled from unconsciousness with a scream as he bucked against the hands holding him down.

Athos ground his teeth as he made sure the wound was sealed, hating that he was causing his friend so much pain. When Athos was satisfied the wound was closed, he held out a shaking hand for the second blade so he could close the wound on the back of Aramis' leg. He was surprised that Treville pushed him away in order to do the job himself.

Treville rolled Aramis onto his left side, than placed the glowing blade against the wound on the back of Aramis' leg. The marksman screamed again, pulling his left leg from d'Artagnan's grip and kicking him in the jaw. Athos grabbed Aramis' legs, trying to stop him from hurting anyone else, and got to them just as the marksman went limp.

Athos sat up, than turned to look at a dazed d'Artagnan, his eyes scanning for injuries.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked.

D'Artagnan wiped his eyes. "Yeah."

Athos gripped d'Artagnan's shoulder as the young man tried to compose himself. He knew this was hard on all of them, but battlefield medicine was new to the Gascon.

"I'm sorry," d'Artagnan said.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," said Athos, gripping his arm.

"There is!" yelled d'Artagnan. "I didn't get back in time."

"You did the best you could," Athos said. "You couldn't have pushed Flip without the risk of breaking a leg."

"He can't die," said d'Artagnan, turning from Athos while wiping his eyes.

"We will do everything in our power to keep him with us," said Athos, gripping the back of the Gascon's neck. "Don't discount Aramis' will to live."

Athos heard d'Artagnan take a deep breath as he raised his head. D'Artagnan nodded his thanks, than they both moved back to Aramis. Glad the Captain was here, Athos watched him tying off the bandage around Aramis leg.

"When do we leave for Paris?" Athos asked.

"We'll let Aramis rest for a few hours," Treville replied. "The three of you could use some rest as well."

"I could sure use the rest," admitted Athos.

"You're not the only one," Porthos added.

"I'm good," d'Artagnan said. "I'll keep an eye on Aramis."

"At least try," suggested Treville.

Athos watched as Treville moved away to give orders to the other musketeers. Porthos stretched out next to Aramis, placing a hand on the marksman's chest. A few minutes later Porthos began to snore.

Athos envied the big man's ability to fall asleep anywhere. Athos added more wood to the fire, knowing Aramis would need the warmth. He scrubbed his hands his through his hair before laying down with his head close to Aramis'. His heart ached knowing that the marksman wasn't out of the woods. The trip back to Paris would be painful and Athos was wrung out from worrying over his friend.

Athos was contemplating how to make the trip easier for Aramis when he felt someone lay next to his side, and wasn't surprised to find d'Artagnan stretching out next to him. Athos gripped the young man's wrist, smiling as he heard a sigh of contentment, then reaching his opposite hand to Aramis' shoulder he connected them all. He closed his eyes knowing in his heart if they were all together, they could over come this.


	6. Chapter 6

Porthos jerked awake, then sat up and looked around. He scrubbed his hands down his face, ignoring the fact that they were shaking, then took a deep breath to banish the terrible dream that pulled him from sleep.

He turned to Aramis when he heard the labored breathing of his friend and touched a hand on Aramis' forehead, not surprised to find it warm. Porthos sighed as he placed both hands against Aramis' cheeks, then leaned forward, touching his forehead against Aramis'.

"You listen to me," Porthos whispered. "You stay with us or I will hurt you."

"Subtle," Athos remarked, as d'Artagnan snorted and rose to his elbows.

"I don't do subtle," replied Porthos, looking around for a water skin.

Porthos could see the other Musketeers were tacking the horses and breaking camp getting ready to leave. The ride to Paris was going to be hard on them all. He closed his eyes, taking a deep a breath to gather his strength, knowing he would have to be strong for Aramis. Athos tapped him on the shoulder handing him a water skin.

"I'll hold him up," Athos said.

Athos placed his arm under Aramis' good shoulder, lifting the weakened marksman. Aramis' head dropped back and d'Artagnan quickly moved in to steady him. Porthos smiled as he watched the Gascon brush his hands over Aramis' dark curls in comfort. It felt good knowing he wasn't alone in his worry for the marksman. D'Artagnan looked up and Porthos nodded his thanks as he held the water skin to Aramis' lips. Porthos cursed as the water trickled from the side of Aramis' slack lips.

"Come on, Aramis, drink," commanded Porthos.

"Try with a cup," suggested Treville, walking over to join them with a tin cup in his hand.

Porthos traded the water skin for the cup, holding it out for the Captain to fill. He placed the cup to Aramis' lips, pouring a small amount of water into Aramis' mouth as d'Artagnan stroked the marksman throat. They all smiled as Aramis swallowed the water. Once he got his first sample, Aramis drank a few more swallows before he moved his head away with a whimper.

"The horses are ready," said Treville.

"Should we change the bandages before we leave?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I checked them while you were sleeping," Treville answered. "They look good. They should be alright until we get to Paris."

"We better strap his arm to his torso," suggested Porthos. "We don't want to stress that shoulder more then we have to."

Treville nodded, moving to one of the horses to get more bandages. Athos held the marksman as Porthos grabbed Aramis' right arm, bending it at the elbow and placing his right hand on his left shoulder. D'Artagnan helped Treville wrap the bandages around Aramis' torso, immobilizing his arm. Porthos heart clenched as Aramis whimpered from the ministrations of the others.

"Porthos," Athos called. "We're all most done. Mount and we'll hand him up to you."

A musketeer brought Porthos the largest of the horses. He waited as they carried Aramis over to the horse, cringing when Aramis moaned as they handed him up. The big Musketeer pulled the smaller man against his chest and held him tight.

"Easy, Aramis, I've got you," soothed Porthos.

"You got him?" Athos asked.

"I'm gonna need you to strap him to me," said Porthos, pulling Aramis' head up to rest against his left shoulder.

Porthos held Aramis as the marksman's breathing quieted. He could hear the others talking sorting out what else needed to be done before they departed. The big musketeer wasn't a religious man but he sent up a silent prayer to Aramis' God to watch over him. Porthos turned, nodding as d'Artagnan moved his mount close to his.

"Porthos come closer to the wall," Athos instructed.

Porthos tapped his heals to his horses side, moving it to the short wall where Athos stood. Athos took a strip from a cloak strapping Aramis to Porthos.

"You're going to have to lead me down the hill," Porthos said. "I'm going to have a hard enough time keeping him in the saddle."

Athos nodded before moving off towards the horses. Porthos heard Treville order the other musketeers to precede them on the trail and to cut down any branches that would be difficult for Porthos to get around.

Before they headed out, d'Artagnan moved closer, taking Aramis' left hand. "Maybe I should have brought a wagon," he said.

"This is better," replied Porthos. "Riding in a wagon would have been more painful."

"I should have stayed," blurted d'Artagnan. "I shouldn't have let Athos send me to Paris."

"You had to go," said Porthos, gripping d'Artagnan's arm. "Don't blame yourself for this, Aramis wouldn't want you too."

Athos moved his mount over toward Porthos, looping a rope over the animal's head.

"Are you ready?" asked Athos.

Porthos nodded, gripping the pommel of the saddle with his right hand as he steadied Aramis' head with his left. Athos nodded, tapping his heals into Roger's side and steering him in front of Porthos' horse. The horse obediently followed as it moved into line behind Roger. D'Artagnan maneuvered his horse behind Porthos as Treville brought up the rear.

Porthos was glad Treville sent the other musketeers ahead to clear a path. It made it easier for him to keep Aramis steady in the saddle instead of having to duck under branches. Even with the trail cleared, the movement of the horse and the occasional stumble caused Aramis to moan in pain.

"Easy, Aramis, you're alright," Porthos soothed.

"How's he doing?" Athos asked.

"Be better if we were on the road," answered Porthos.

"Not much further," Athos said. "I can see it through the trees."

"Good," Porthos said with a sigh.

The other musketeers were waiting on the road when Athos broke through the brush ahead of him. Porthos sighed in relief when he caught up, leaving him unprepared when his horse stumbled and threw him off balance. Aramis cried out from the sudden movement and Porthos struggled to keep them in the saddle. D'Artagnan and Treville moved quickly to either side of the horse, grabbing Porthos to steady him. Porthos hugged Aramis tightly until the horse settled.

"Are you alright, son?" asked Treville.

"I'm good," answered Porthos.

"How's Aramis?" asked d'Artagnan.

"Hurting," said Porthos, running his fingers through Aramis' dark curls as the marksman gasped for air.

Treville nodded, moving to the head of the column. Porthos smiled in relief when Athos and d'Artagnan moved their horses to either side of him, lending him support. Athos retained the lead rope for his horse so he could concentrate on Aramis. The constant jarring of the horse's gate was taking its toll on the marksman and Porthos cringed every time Aramis moaned. Porthos talked to Aramis in soft tones as he rubbed his hand in circles over Aramis chest and became even more worried when he felt the marksman's heart racing.

"Don't you leave me," Porthos whispered. "Don't you dare leave me."

Porthos wiped the moisture from his eyes as he glanced over at Athos. The swordsman face was grim but determined. Porthos knew he would do everything in his power to keep Aramis with them. Porthos jumped when he felt a hand grip his left shoulder. He turned to see d'Artagnan with the same look gracing the Gascon's features. Porthos grunted, sitting straighter and willing strength into his injured friend.

Porthos was beginning to sweat from the heat emanating from Aramis' fevered body. He swiped his right sleeve over his forehead to keep sweat from dripping into his eyes. Athos tapped his right arm, holding out his neck scarf. Porthos nodded his thanks as he took the scarf, running it over the back of his neck and face. The trip was mercifully uneventful and Porthos sighed in relief as the spires of Notre Dame came into view. Treville increased the pace but still kept the horses to a walk in deference to Aramis' injuries. Aramis' body began to shiver getting worse as they came to the walls surrounding the city. Porthos became alarmed as Aramis' body began to jerk violently.

"Stop!" yelled Porthos, fighting to keep them both in the saddle.

Athos and d'Artagnan steadied him from both sides as they shared worried looks.

"Damn you, Aramis, don't do this to me," Porthos pleaded.

"We have to get him off this horse," declared Athos.

"Take him to Constance's," d'Artagnan suggested. "It's closer."

Treville grabbed one of the musketeers that accompanied them "Get Dr. Lemay," he instructed. "Send him to Madame Bonacieux's."

Porthos held Aramis tight against his body as the marksman continued to jerk. When the seizure ended, Porthos feared the worst. He reached a shaking hand to Aramis chest, sighing in relief.

"He's alive," Porthos declared.

"Quickly," said Athos, taking charge and plunging into the busy streets of Paris.

Treville and Athos shouted for everyone to move out of the way as they charged, two abreast, down the street. Porthos followed close behind as d'Artagnan brought up the rear. Citizens cursed them but fell silent when they saw that they were the King's Musketeers. It was market day in Paris and the streets were packed with people, causing the trip to take longer than expected.

The citizen's that frequented the square in front of the Bonacieux residence were surprised as the four horses rushed up to the house. Porthos saw d'Artagnan jump from his horse, pulling a key from his tunic as Athos joined Treville next to his horse. Athos didn't waste time trying to untie the make shift rope securing Aramis, instead, drawing his main gauche and cutting the bindings. The big musketeer reluctantly released Aramis into the waiting arms of his captain and friend. They carried Aramis into the house, surprised to see Dr. Lemay and Constance waiting for them.

"Put him on the table," Lamay instructed.

Treville and Athos did as they were told. Once Aramis was settled, Porthos wasted no time undressing him, cutting away the shirt to minimize movement of his shoulder. He could hear someone drop Aramis' boots on the floor as he listened to Lemay instruct Constance on what he would need. The small kitchen buzzed with activity as everyone did their part to take care of Aramis. Porthos placed his large hand on Aramis' forehead to let his friend know he was there

"Here," said Athos, placing a basin of water and some towels next to Porthos.

Porthos nodded his thanks as he wrung out a towel to use on Aramis' fevered brow. The marksman's face was pale, the only color were the red, fever bright cheeks.

Lemay told Constance to pour the brandy over his hands before turning to his patient.

"Let's start with the shoulder wound," Lemay said.

Porthos nodded as he helped Athos remove the bandages. Lemay tisked when he saw the cauterization mark on the marksman's chest.

"Barbaric practice," Lamay said, palpating the wound.

Athos grabbed Lamay's hand, pushing him away. "It saved his life!"

"Athos!" Treville yelled, grabbing his irate lieutenant.

"You have no right to judge what we had to do in the field," Athos growled.

"Of course, you're right," stammered Lemay. "I apologize. Sometimes I forget things are different away from the luxuries of the court."

Athos took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. "I apologize as well. It's been a trying few days."

"That settled, yeah," Porthos said with a glare. "Can we get back to Aramis?"

"Right," Lemay agreed. "Can you roll him so I can check his back?"

Porthos cradled Aramis' head as the others rolled the marksman to his left side. Porthos held Aramis in place as he moaned; arching his back away from Lemay's probing hands. The physician murmured some words Porthos didn't understand, he just wished Lemay would stop poking at the wound. Porthos got his wish as Lemay stepped back with a pensive expression.

"What?" demanded Porthos.

"The wound is infected ," Lemay declared. "I'm just trying to decide the best way to drain the infection."

"We always used poultices on the farm," said d'Artagnan.

"Maybe," Lemay agreed. "But I might have a better idea. I read it in a book…"

"You read it in a book," Athos scoffed. "Have you even tried it?"

"Well no," Lemay confessed. "But the theory is sound. I'd like to try."

"Aramis ain't no experiment," Porthos declared.

"It will work, I assure you," Lemay said. "I'm sure Aramis would agree, he's quiet the progressive thinker when it comes to medicine."

"How would you know what Aramis thinks," Athos growled.

"We've had several long discussions," Lemay said with a smile. "He's also borrowed several of my medical books."

"What would this technique involve?" Treville asked.

"Would you like a lengthy explanation or do you want me to try save his life?" Lemay said, exasperated.

"Just fix him," demanded Porthos.

Lemay nodded, turning to Constance to ask her to boil some water. D'Artagnan grabbed a pitcher of water as Constance grabbed the kettle from the shelf. Porthos watched Lemay take several large quills from his bag, choosing the largest and setting it aside. He continued to rummage through the bag, pulling out several instruments to place alongside the quill.

Porthos stroked his hand over his best friend's head in comfort. All this medical mumbo jumbo was beyond him, he just wanted Aramis to get better.

When the water was ready, Lemay placed the quill and the instruments in a basin, instructing Constance to pour the hot water over them.

"I'm going to warn you," said Lemay, pulling the items out of the water. "This is going to hurt. I need you to keep him still."

Porthos took a deep breath as he watched Lemay place an empty basin on the floor next to the table. The physician picked up the scalpel, looking at each of them to see if they were ready. Porthos looked up to see Athos pin Aramis' hips, while d'Artagnan and Treville held his legs.

"Here we go," Lemay, warned.

Aramis' reaction was immediate and violent as Lemay cut into the wound. The marksman screamed, throwing back his head and catching Porthos in the nose. The big musketeer felt blood trickle down his lip as he continued to hold a struggling Aramis.

Lemay dropped the scalpel, grabbed the quill and pushed it into the cut, forcing Athos to climb on the table to hold Aramis in place.

"Quickly, move him to the edge so his shoulder hangs off the table," Lemay instructed.

They did as instructed, becoming concerned when Aramis' violent reaction was reduced low moans and whimpers.

Lemay crouched on the floor and repeatedly pinched the wound with his fingers so it would drain.

"Stop….please ….stop," cried Aramis.

"Just a little more," said Porthos, stroking Aramis' forehead. "Almost done."

Aramis' keening was breaking Porthos' heart. He continued running his hands through Aramis' hair in comfort. Porthos heard Constance gag as he smelled the putrid odor. He glanced down at the basin on the floor and wish he hadn't. Lemay's experiment seemed to be working, for green pus and blood drained from the wound.

Porthos swallowed thickly as he looked up, catching Athos' eye. The Comte's lips were pressed in a thin line, his eyes haunted, as he held Aramis in place. Porthos could hear d'Artagnan breathing heavily and he sympathized with the Gascon.

"I need to move the quill," Lamay said. "I want to try to get as much of the infection out as I can."

Aramis screamed as Lemay manipulated the quill. Porthos sighed in relief when the marksman suddenly went limp, breathing ragged as Aramis gulped air into his lungs. Porthos rested his forehead on Aramis' sweaty curls, mumbling nonsense to his unconscious friend. The big musketeer was surprised when Athos cried out in frustration as he grabbed a pitcher, throwing it against the wall.

"That's the best I can do," said Lemay, standing up. "Let me stitch this so we can get Aramis settled."

Porthos rolled Aramis to his side as Lemay prepared a needle and thread. He watched as d'Artagnan moved to Constance and touched her shoulder, causing her to jump. D'Artagnan held out his arms and Porthos smiled as she willing let the Gascon comfort her. Treville left the table then placed a hand on his second in command's shoulder.

Athos took a shuddering breath and pushed away from the wall. "Now comes the hard part," he said.

Porthos looked up, wiping the blood from under his nose on his shirt sleeve. "We wait."


	7. Chapter 7

Athos gave a weary sigh as he stood, placing his hands on the small of his back as he leaned left and right to stretch his back. Constance's chairs weren't meant to be sat in all night but he was grateful she had forgiven their intrusion of her home.

Athos walked to the window of d'Artagnan's old room to stretch his legs. He threw it open to look out at the courtyard below and saw traders and buyers bustling around buying and selling goods. Athos' stomach growled when he smelled sausages wafting up from below and realized he hadn't eaten since yesterday.

He turned around and leaned against the windowsill. He could see Aramis lying in bed, and his labored breathing tore at his heart. The night was spent bathing the marksman's fevered brow to try to bring down his fever, but as he watched now, he realized their efforts had been futile for Aramis began to toss his head back and forth while throwing off the blankets.

"Easy, Aramis," said Athos, walking back to the bed and sitting on the edge.

"Anne….danger," Aramis mumbled.

"The Queen is fine," Athos soothed, running a damp cloth over Aramis' face.

"Dauphin!" cried Aramis. "My son….danger."

Athos' heart quickened as Aramis called for his son. He was just glad he was the one taking care of the marksman when he mistakenly made this revelation.

"Aramis!" scolded Athos, taking Aramis's face in both his hands. "You have to listen to me!"

"My …son," Aramis moaned.

Athos knew there would be no getting through to Aramis in his delirium. Despite Dr. Lemay's care, Aramis' fever was worse.

"Danger!" Aramis yelled. "Treason….Protect them."

"Aramis!" said Athos, tapping his cheek.

"Love…her," moaned Aramis.

Athos heard a creak behind him and whirled around to find Constance standing in the doorway to the room. His heart raced wondering how much she heard. Constance was a friend but would she keep this secret?

"How much did you hear?" Athos demanded.

"Enough," said Constance, stepping into the room and placing a tray of food on the table.

"What will you do?" asked Athos.

"Relax," she said, walking towards the bed. "I already knew."

Athos raised both eyebrows. Constance smiled at his shocked expression as she shooed him off the bed and over to the table.

"How?" Athos asked.

"Remember when Anne and I went to Emilie's camp?" asked Constance, wiping Aramis' face with the cloth.

"Not the smartest idea," Athos replied drily, as he sat at the table.

"I tried to stop her," Constance said, "but when the Queen gets something into her head there's no changing her mind."

"She can be very stubborn," Athos agreed, taking a bite of the eggs.

"After Emilie agreed to let us go, I stepped outside the tent," she continued. "When I walked back in, Anne and Aramis were kissing."

"Idiot!" Athos cursed. "I told him to stay away from her."

"I wasn't happy either," Constance said. "What Aramis did was treason, Anne could be killed."

"Aramis as well," reminded Athos.

"Why did he set his sights so high?" Constance asked. "He could have any woman in Paris, why did he have to endanger the Queen?"

"He didn't seduce her if that's what you think," said Athos, defending his friend.

"Was she that scared at the convent that she turned to him for comfort?" Constance asked.

"Mutual heart ache," Athos replied. "A woman Aramis was engaged to just died in his arms. He was upset. Anne comforted him."

"You mean the Queen…."

"It takes two," Athos interrupted. "They were both vulnerable."

"What's done is done," Constance said with a sigh. "It's our little secret. How do we keep it that way with Aramis out of his head?"

Athos sighed, putting his head in his hands. "I don't know."

"Not like we can keep Porthos away," said Constance, ringing the extra water from the cloth before wiping it over Aramis' neck and chest.

"No," Athos agreed. "I had a hard enough time getting him to leave last night."

"They might just think the fever has him confused?" she said.

"We can only hope," replied Athos, finishing his breakfast.

Athos leaned back in the chair drinking a cup of wine. He knew he couldn't keep Porthos away for very long. Sometimes the bond between Aramis and Porthos surprised him. They were so different, but Athos knew they would do anything for each other. He smiled remembering when Aramis got angry with him after Porthos was hurt protecting Bonnaire, accusing him of not caring for Porthos.

Athos stretched out his leg as he finished his wine. Constance was fussing with Aramis' pillow as she hummed a lullaby. The tune seemed to work as Athos watched Aramis settle deeper against the pillows. He poured another cup of wine and relaxed against the back of the chair.

Athos jerked awake to hear Constance talking to someone in the kitchen. The deep timber of the voice could only be one person, Porthos. Athos walked over to the bed to check on Aramis and saw sweat beading on the marksman's brow. Athos sighed as he saw Aramis shiver. He drew the earlier discarded blankets back up to Aramis' chin. Dr. Lemay warned them Aramis would be hot and cold before getting better. Athos knew the shivering was a good thing, but he hated to watch Aramis suffer.

"How is he?"

Athos turned to see Porthos standing in the doorway. "He's shivering."

"Lemay said that was a good thing," said Porthos, stepping to the end of the bed.

Athos nodded. "Won't do his shoulder any good."

"No," Porthos agreed.

Porthos gripped Aramis ankle and smiled. "Hey you."

Athos turned back to Aramis to see the marksman watching them.

"Aramis," called Athos, running his finger through his tangled curls. "You with us?"

"Thirsty," Aramis croaked.

Athos heard Porthos pour water into a cup. He turned when Porthos tapped him on the shoulder to see him holding out the cup.

"Why don't you hold him up," said Athos, standing to make room for Porthos.

Porthos took Athos spot at the top of the bed. It always surprised Athos how gentle the big musketeer could be as he slipped his arm behind Aramis' shoulders. Athos winced when Aramis moaned as he was raised. The Comte placed the cup to Aramis' lips and was grateful their injured friend drank greedily.

"Come on, Aramis, drink a little more," Porthos coaxed.

Athos wasn't surprised when Aramis refused. Porthos sighed, laying Aramis back against the pillows.

"Cold," complained Aramis, shivering.

"I'll get more blankets from Constance," Athos said.

He walked toward the door, turning to see Porthos lean closer to talk to Aramis. Athos couldn't hear what he said, but Aramis smiled. The small gesture loosened the knot gripping Athos' stomach.

The afternoon sun blazed through the window directly into Porthos' eyes. The big musketeer stifled a yawn before moving the chair out of the sunbeam. The room was already warm and stuffy and Porthos scrubbed his hands over his face to try to wake up. He placed his elbows on his knees, cradling his head on his fists as he watched his best friend toss and turn on the bed.

Porthos' heart ached watching Aramis suffer. The past three days were hell for everyone as Aramis' fever worsened. Last night was no exception. The high fever had Aramis reliving one of the worst days the musketeers had ever experienced, Savoy. When Aramis kept apologizing for not being able to keep the ravens from their dead comrades, Porthos broke down in tears as he held his friend, hating that there wasn't more he could do, but sit and hope the fever broke.

Porthos sighed as Aramis pushed the blankets off as he tossed on the bed.

"Easy, Aramis," he said, running his hand over Aramis' sweaty hair.

"Que Donde?" Aramis moaned.

"I don't know what you want," Porthos replied.

Porthos heard someone step into the room and he turned to find d'Artagnan standing in the doorway.

"How is he?"

"The fever just won't break," Porthos growled in frustration.

"Constance is making lunch," d'Artagnan said, walking over to the bed.

"Not really hungry," Porthos said.

Porthos could see the concern in the Gascon's eyes. The constant worry gnawed at him, sapping his desire to eat. Porthos shock his head as Aramis pushed the blankets to the floor. D'Artagnan picked them up and went to throw them over Aramis when Porthos stopped him.

"Don't bother," Porthos remarked. "He'll just throw them off again."

D'Artagnan nodded, placing the blankets at the foot of the bed. Aramis continued to writhe on the bed mumbling under his breath. Porthos placed his hand on Aramis' arm but was caught off guard when Aramis sat up swinging his arm and cursing.

"Bastards!" Aramis yelled. "Stay away….Stay away."

"Aramis!" bellowed Porthos, grabbing Aramis' flailing arm.

"Have to keep them away," cried Aramis, struggling in Porthos' grip. "The ravens…keep them away."

"Oh Aramis," Porthos lamented, cradling Aramis in his arms.

"Please….help me," moaned Aramis.

Porthos felt the bed shift as d'Artagnan sat on the other side. He looked up to see the Gascon wipe tears from his eyes as he placed his hand on Aramis' leg. Porthos laid Aramis back against the pillows before turning to d'Artagnan.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," d'Artagnan admitted.

"You're not the only one," Porthos said.

"Me either," Constance replied from the doorway.

D'Artagnan gave her a wane smile as he stood to help her with the tray loaded with food. Porthos looked at the food but what he told d'Artagnan earlier still held true, he just wasn't hungry.

"You need to eat," Constance admonished. "You have to keep up your strength."

Porthos sighed. "You're right."

He joined d'Artagnan at the table, while Constance sat in the chair next to the bed to tend Aramis. The marksman was still restless, tossing his head on the pillow while muttering. Porthos hated the grayness of Aramis' face; the color belonged to a corpse not a living man. He ate little before he leaned back and closed his eyes.

He jerked awake when d'Artagnan called his name.

"Porthos!" d'Artagnan yelled. "A little help."

"Let me go!" Aramis bellowed. "I have to save my son!"

Porthos waded into the fray, getting behind Aramis and wrapping his arms around the marksman's torso, pinning his arms to his side.

"Come on, Aramis," Porthos pleaded, as he held the smaller man tight against his chest. "Stop fighting me."

"The Queen!" Aramis cried, struggling in Porthos' grip. "Save…her."

"How the hell does he have the energy to fight?" asked d'Artagnan, as he held Aramis' legs. "What is he talking about any way, he has no son."

"Of course not!" Constance said. "He's out of his head."

Porthos saw the frightened look in Constance's eyes. The big musketeer sighed in relief as Aramis' energy finally gave out and he went limp.

"Please," Aramis moaned. "Save the Dauphin."

Porthos hugged Aramis tight as the marksman drifted into unconsciousness. He was reluctant to let his friend go, but he knew they needed to check his shoulder.

"D'Artagnan give me a hand," Porthos said, leaning Aramis toward the Gascon.

D'Artagnan held Aramis as Porthos slipped out from behind him. He was about to lay him back when Porthos stopped him.

"We need to check his shoulder," said Porthos. "No telling what damage he did throwing his arms around like that."

Constance retrieve the bandages Dr. Lemay left and brought them to Porthos. He thanked her as he continued to remove the old bandages. The wound on Aramis' back was scabbed over but still red around the edges. Porthos poured some brandy on a cloth and cleaned the wound. He was relieved to find the intense heat that radiated from the wound the day before was less. When he was done cleaning the wound, Constance helped him wrap it with the new bandages. Once Aramis was settled back against the pillows Porthos moved to the wound on his leg. As he removed the bandages, he looked up to see d'Artagnan frowning.

"What?" Porthos asked.

"Why was Aramis calling for his son?" d'Artagnan asked. "Could he have one and never said anything?"

"No," Porthos said, as he cleaned Aramis' leg wound. "He would have told me. He'd never keep something like that from me."

"But why would he ask us to protect his son?" d'Artagnan persisted. "Then call for the Dauphin."

"What!" bellowed a familiar voice.

They looked up to see Athos standing in the doorway. Porthos frowned as Constance and Athos shared an anxious look.

"Yeah," d'Artagnan said. "Aramis kept calling for his son and the queen, then the Dauphin."

"He's out of his head with fever," Constance insisted.

"She's right," Athos agreed. "Aramis is confused."

"But…" d'Artagnan began.

"But nothing," Athos argued. "Aramis has no son."

Porthos frowned, trying to figure out why Athos was so quick to cut the Gascon off. Did he know something they didn't?

"How his leg wound?" Athos asked, changing the subject.

"It looks good," Porthos said.

"Good," Athos nodded, as leaned in the doorway.

Porthos finished tying the bandage as Aramis began to shiver. Constance grabbed the blankets, spreading them over the marksman. Porthos looked up to see Athos scowling.

"What it is?" Porthos asked.

The Comte sighed before answering. "You're not going to like it."

"Can't be that bad," d'Artagnan said.

"The king asked Treville to assign his best men to deliver a packet," replied Athos.

"Oh, no," Porthos argued.

"It's a direct order from the King," Athos said. "We have no choice. We'll be back by morning."

"Tell him no," d'Artagnan argued. "We can't leave Aramis."

Athos' eyebrows rose to his hairline at the Gascon's remark. "Do you think the King would take kindly to our refusal?"

"Ain't right," Porthos said with a scowl.

"Aramis will be fine," Constance insisted. "I can take care of him."

"Alone?" d'Artagnan asked. "What if he fights you like he just did with us?"

"Treville will be here," Constance answered. "Now go, you don't want to make the King angry."

Athos nodded his thanks as he turned to leave the room. D'Artagnan patted Aramis' leg before following his mentor, leaving Porthos with Constance to say his good byes.

"If anything happens…"

"Porthos," Constance said. "You know I'll take good care of him."

Porthos nodded. "I know I just hate to leave like this."

The big musketeer leaned over the bed, running his hand over Aramis' hair. "You behave," Porthos said, before turning back to Constance.

"We'll be fine."

Porthos stood and walked to the door. He turned as he heard Constance hum a lullaby to his best friend. He hated leaving, but he knew Constance would watch over his sick friend.


	8. Chapter 8

Athos was glad to be back at the garrison. The ride from the palace managed to cool his anger after the disastrous report to the King. The short mission the night before took much longer than expected, and the outcome wasn't one the King expected and therefore, blamed the musketeers. Athos didn't care, all he wanted to do was get back to Aramis.

NP In the courtyard, they handed the horses off to another musketeer before heading out the gate. The walk to Constance's house had his mind wandering down a more worrisome path. What would they would find when they arrived at the house? Would Aramis be worse? Better? Or even… Athos could not finish the thought.

On arrival, d'Artagnan made it to the door first and pushed it open. "Constance!" he yelled as he stepped inside.

"You're back!" Constance exclaimed, peeking around the wall. "Where have you been?"

"We were delayed," Porthos replied.

"I have a surprise for you," she said, smiling.

Athos watched as she grabbed Porthos' hand, dragging him towards the room Aramis occupied. He looked toward d'Artagnan who shrugged, then followed behind them to the room.

Constance smiled mischievously as she pushed the door wide. Athos' jaw dropped open when he saw Aramis awake and sitting propped up against some pillows.

Aramis cleared his throat before he spoke. "Where have you been?"

"Don't tire him out," Constance warned. "This is the first time he's been truly awake."

Porthos moved to the bed and pulled Aramis into a hug. Athos felt the tension and worry leak from his body, leaving him feeling untethered. Constance touch brought him back and he smiled.

"When did his fever break?" Athos asked.

"During the night," she answered. "He scared me, he went so still. Good thing Dr. Lemay was here. I was so afraid he'd… you know..."

"Thank you," Athos said, pulling her into a hug.

Constance gasped in surprise. "I didn't do anything."

"You did," d'Artagnan argued, as Athos released her. "You were here for him, comforted him, while we were on that stupid mission."

"Well you're here now," Constance remarked. "Go be with him while I get some broth."

Athos moved further into the room to stand at the end of the bed. D'Artagnan walked to the other side of the bed and leaned against the wall.

"You look terrible," Athos said, crossing his arms.

"I feel like a day old kitten," Aramis said with a sigh.

D'Artagnan chuckled. "You look more like something the cat would bury."

Athos smiled as he watched Porthos look Aramis up and down.

"He does look rather scrawny," Porthos said. "I don't think a cat would even bother burying him."

"Captain, I protest this treatment," Aramis groused.

They turned to see Treville standing in the doorway.

"What did you expect?" Treville asked. "Flowers and candy?"

"Would have been nice," Aramis yawned.

"Hey, stay wake," Athos said, shaking his ankle. "Constance is bringing some broth."

Aramis nodded but Athos could see he was losing the battle. Constance came back with the broth and handed it to Porthos. Porthos handed Aramis the cup but didn't release it when he saw Aramis' hand shaking. The marksman drank half the cup before he drifted off the sleep.

Athos didn't even realize he was rubbing his thumb over Aramis' ankle, but when he did, he was reluctant to let go. He was afraid if he stopped, he would wake and this would all be a dream.

The former Comte watched as d'Artagnan walked to the bed to place his hand on Aramis' leg as Porthos gripped Aramis' good shoulder. Athos heard a ruffle of skirts as Constance moved behind d'Artagnan and wrapped her arms around his neck. Athos turned as Treville placed his hand on his shoulder connecting them all. Athos sighed in contentment knowing they were all still 'All for one'.

 _Three weeks later…_

Athos stepped from his room at the garrison, and leaned against the railing. He watched as Porthos talked with one of the new recruits down in the courtyard, giving him some pointers on hand-to-hand combat. Athos started for the stairs, stopping when he heard his name.

"Athos," Treville called from his office door.

"Captain?"

"Gather your men," Treville ordered. "The King wants you to ride guard on the shipment of grain heading for Le Havre."

"Of course," Athos said.

Athos headed down the stairs, calling Porthos over. The large musketeer clapped the young man he'd been sparring with on the back before joining Athos.

"We have a mission," Athos said. "Saddle the horses."

Porthos nodded, and then headed for the stables. Athos wandered over to the blacksmith to discuss a new shoeing schedule for the horses. Athos turned to see Porthos leading their horses, followed by d'Artagnan leading his. They mounted and waited. Athos looked to the stables as Aramis led his horse into the courtyard. Aramis mounted and settled easily into the saddle.

Athos smiled as he heard Porthos tease him for being late. Aramis quipped that he needed more beauty sleep then Porthos. Athos noted the gaunt look of Aramis' face but chose to ignore it. The weight he lost to the fever was slow to return. The marksman was alive and whole so what more could they ask. Athos knew they would have been lost without their forth and he was glad that God granted them the gift of Aramis' recovery.

Athos rolled his eyes as d'Artagnan dared them to a race. Aramis may have been the last one to arrive, but his horse was the first out the gate. Athos cringed as he heard angry shouts from the people outside the gates. He looked up to see Treville pinching the bridge of his nose. Athos smirked knowing the Captain sometimes wondered why he was being punished.


End file.
